Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (28 page)

There was an air of rejoicing, in spite of the impending weather. While she and Ragnar ate, the children ran around with the dogs, laughing. One of the older men began to tell stories and though she could not understand him, Elena was caught by the deep tone of his voice. He used his hands to weave the tale and Ragnar's palm came over to her spine. The heat of his hand warmed her skin and he leaned in close. ‘Could I ask you to tend my leg, if you've a moment?'

‘Of course.' She swallowed the cup of ale the Irishmen had given her, rising to her feet. ‘But I think they have a healer who may be able to help you more than I can. We'll go together and speak to her.'

With his hand in hers, she led him towards one of the older women. In her own language, she asked, ‘Do you have a healer in your tribe?' Though the woman could not understand her, Elena pointed to Ragnar's wound and the meaning became clear.

The woman called out a command to someone else and an older matron approached, carrying a basket.

‘Sit down,' Elena ordered Ragnar. He did and she began unwrapping the bandage she'd tied around him. The wound was slick with blood and the flesh would undoubtedly bruise from the blows he'd received. But all of them were alive and she gave thanks for that.

The healer dipped a cloth in cool water and washed away the blood. Then she muttered words beneath her breath, packing the wound with a poultice made of more herbs.

‘I feel like a roast being seasoned,' he remarked drily, wincing as the woman wrapped the bandage tightly.

‘But you'll heal,' Elena reassured him. She moved to sit by him and used a damp cloth to wipe the dust from his face. Though it was meant only to help him, his dark green eyes held her captive. She grew conscious of his sun-darkened skin and the firm line of his jaw. This man was a warrior, not an ordinary man.

When her attention rested upon his mouth, her skin tightened with heat. She'd kissed him, never imagining the feelings he would conjure.

There might be no harm in studying a handsome man. But she was a married woman, one who might be pregnant. She had no right to let her imagination wander over a fair face.

When the healer had finished wrapping Ragnar's wound, she reached for Elena's hand and spoke words in Irish, joining her palm to Ragnar's.

‘What do you think she said?' Elena asked him.

‘Probably that you should take care of me and see to my every need.' His eyes flashed with a glint of humour. ‘You should bring food and serve it to me.'

‘Clearly, your enemy knocked your brains loose,' she retorted, but didn't hold back her smile. ‘Or you're dreaming.'

His hand closed over hers, gripping her palm. ‘Perhaps I am.' The heat of his skin against hers made her feel awkward and uncertain. But she didn't pull away.

The Irish seemed grateful to both of them and as they built fires and prepared food for a meal, many smiled at them. One young boy toddled over to her with his arms outstretched. Elena caught him before he could tumble and he laughed. She gave him back to his mother, smiling warmly at the woman.

Though she didn't know for certain if she would bear a child of her own, her heart wanted to believe. And now, instead of mourning her barrenness, she had a future to look forward to. She could only pray that Styr would be a part of it.

Like a physical blow, the memory of his capture slammed into her. She couldn't shut out the vision of him being struck down and later dragged away in chains. Was he alive? Would she ever see him again? Her heart faltered, for although they'd had their marital troubles, she
did
care about him.

The weight of the past few days burdened her with so much fear. There were so many unanswered questions, but she could not indulge in cowardice. She had to stand strong and believe that they would find Styr. Once they did, she could rebuild their lives when she gave birth, come the early spring.

Her hand passed over her womb and she tried to imagine her body changing its shape while a precious baby grew within.

‘Are you hungry?' Ragnar interrupted her thoughts, holding out a piece of the roasted venison. She took it, but although it was likely delicious, it tasted like dust in her mouth.

‘You're troubled,' Ragnar predicted. ‘Tell me.' He motioned for her to sit and he found a large rock to lean against. Though his tone was sympathetic, she was aware of how difficult this day had been for him. Behind his eyes, she sensed he was hiding the physical pain.

‘It's been a hard day for both of us,' she admitted.

‘But we're alive.' He motioned for her to come closer and when she stood before him, she felt as if he shared her burdens. His hand closed over hers and he squeezed it gently.

The comfort he gave nearly dissolved the tight control upon her emotions. She wanted to drop to her knees and sob out her frustration. But if she did, he would draw his arms around her, offering the comfort of his embrace.

She couldn't deny that the past week had altered their friendship. Ragnar had always been there, but being alone with him only forced her to compare him to her husband. Both were handsome and strong...but the touch of his hands upon her evoked a restless yearning she didn't want to face.

‘We need to find Styr,' she insisted. ‘We've been gone too long and I'm afraid for him.'

The mention of her husband drew a grim finality in Ragnar's eyes. He released her hand and she found herself turning away. ‘They could be torturing him.' Or worse, he might be dead. She tried to imagine life without him and a cold dread sank into her.

‘Do you want to travel with this tribe?' Ragnar asked. ‘I don't think they would mind it.'

It was a reasonable suggestion, but something held her back. The people did not speak their language and, if they continued southeast, there was another threat.

‘What if we encounter the Norse raiders again?' she asked Ragnar, shuddering at the thought. ‘We might not defeat them a second time.' Although finding the snake had been a stroke of good fortune, her skin still crawled at the thought of its scaly warmth upon her throat. The Norsemen had believed her promise of a curse, for the gods often took the form of a serpent when they returned to earth. But it didn't mean she felt safe. They would as soon slaughter them in their sleep.

‘My leg has almost healed,' Ragnar said. ‘I won't let any harm come to you.'

She knew he meant it, but it didn't allay her fears. ‘I need to think,' she told him. ‘I don't know whether to stay here and let Styr find us...or whether we should go back.' They had no ship and it would take too long to travel on foot back to the settlement.

‘If he's alive, Styr won't ever stop searching for you,' Ragnar said. Though his words were meant to reassure her, she sensed something more. Turning to face him, she caught a flash of longing on his face. Almost as if he never wanted Styr to find her. As if he wanted to take her husband's place.

An unbidden vision caught her, of Ragnar claiming her as his conquest. She sensed his unspoken words:
I would never stop searching for you.

A moment later, he'd shielded all emotions, making her wonder if she'd imagined it.

‘What if he can't look for me? We don't know what's happened.'

‘No. We don't.' He ate his own food, staring off into the darkness. She was waiting for him to offer guidance, to tell her what they should do. But he was leaving the decision in her hands.

The healer beckoned to Elena to come with her, leaving Ragnar to rest. Though she didn't know what the woman wanted, she followed. ‘I'll return soon,' she promised. Ragnar's expression was enigmatic, but he waved his hand as if he didn't care.

The Irish maiden who spoke a few words of her language came to bring her to their leader. She smiled, as if to put her at ease, and then nodded to the older man. ‘Our chief ask...you...magic?'

Elena shook her head. ‘I only let the raiders believe what they wanted to. I threatened to curse the men.'

The girl spoke rapidly to the chief, who inclined his head in approval. ‘He say...give thanks. Gift to you.'

‘What kind of a gift?' She wondered if they would offer gold or a horse. Instead, the girl pointed towards a folded hide. It was large and when she led Elena to touch it, she realised that it had been treated to make it repel water. It would keep them warm and dry inside their shelter.

‘For your journey,' the girl promised.

Elena thanked them in her own language, even knowing they would not understand. She accepted the heavy cloth and started to return to Ragnar, but the wind began to blow hard, whipping at her hair.

‘Tonight, you share our shelter,' the girl promised. ‘Bad storm coming.'

The men and women began to set up an array of tents and Elena joined them, offering her help. The girl urged her to keep the heavy cloth and to use it on their travels later.

The Irish set up a tent and lined the interior with soft furs and hot stones from the fire. When it was ready, the girl invited her in. ‘For you and your man to share.'

Ragnar had limped over to join her, leaning on a thick staff that someone had given him. ‘You'd better go inside,' he told Elena, ‘before the rain starts.'

‘This will be more comfortable than our house of sticks,' she teased, holding the flap open for him. He entered and she closed it behind him, enveloping the room in darkness. The space was not large and if she stretched out her hands, she could touch him.

‘I suppose so.' Ragnar's gaze settled upon the pile of furs on one side. It was then that she realised they would sleep beside one another. Though it shouldn't have bothered her—after all, she'd already slept beside him when he was burning up with fever—somehow, this space seemed more intimate.

A flush of heat pressed through her and she imagined lying in this man's arms. Hard against soft...and the image was not unwelcome.

Elena knelt down on the furs, trying to push out the dishonourable thoughts. Ragnar was a friend, that was all.

He kept his distance and that was likely for the best. In the darkness, the hot stones warmed the air while outside the wind battered their shelter. Here, she was safe, protected from the elements. But there was nothing to protect her from the forbidden feelings rising inside.

To distract herself, she rested her hands upon her flat stomach. It seemed strange that she felt no different at all, even with a child growing within her. No illness...nothing except the absence of bleeding. Sometimes it seemed like a dream to imagine it.

Ragnar leaned upon the staff, limping towards her until he eased his way to the furs. Elena lay down on her side and heard the rustle of him doing the same. She froze when his leg bumped against hers. Though she knew it was accidental, it made her all too aware that she was sleeping beside a man who was not her husband. A man who tempted her to cast aside honour for a taste of the forbidden.

She curled up, but when she lay on the ground she felt the icy wind slipping beneath the tent. Without meaning to, she shivered. When she adjusted her position again, she heard him let out a tense breath of air when her body bumped against his. Elena suspected that she'd somehow pressed against his wounded leg. ‘I'm sorry, did I hurt you?'

‘No.' He rolled on to his uninjured side, away from her. ‘You surprised me, that's all.'

He kept far away from her, which was for the best. She huddled beneath the furs, trying to get comfortable. ‘I'm glad you're here,' she said quietly.

And she was. In the midst of all the terrifying things that had happened, having Ragnar at her side had made it bearable. She believed that he would surrender his own life for hers without a second thought. He'd been her protector and a man she could rely on.

He said nothing in reply. Perhaps he had other matters on his mind. ‘Are you in pain?' she asked. She waited, expecting him to answer yes or no. But again he held his silence. Which probably meant he was hurting, since no male she'd ever met would admit to feeling pain.

‘Go to sleep, Elena.' His voice was gruff and she couldn't understand why he seemed reluctant to talk. In the past, he'd always been an amiable man, friendly and easy to be with.

Not tonight.

‘What have I done wrong?' she asked.

His hand caught her wrist in the darkness. ‘Do you know how much I envy your husband?'

The words held a dark edge and she could think of nothing to say. Though his grip wasn't forceful, she sensed that he was on the brink of fury.

‘He has a beautiful wife,' Ragnar said. ‘Possibly a child on the way. A family.'

The envy in his voice revealed a lonely man. One who had never had any of those things. She swallowed hard, unable to find the right words for sympathy.

‘You love him, don't you?' he said quietly.

‘Yes,' she whispered. She would always be loyal to Styr. He was a strong man, a good provider. He'd done everything he could to make her happy. And now that they were going to have a child, it would all be better.

Wouldn't it?

In the darkness, Ragnar released her wrist and she huddled on her side. She remembered the last time her husband had joined with her. Styr had done everything he could to please her, touching her in a way he thought would give her a release. Instead, she'd been cold inside, unable to react. Thoughts of her childlessness had haunted her until it seemed as if a stranger were touching her. Her marriage had been breaking apart and she'd wept in her husband's arms. He was as frustrated as she was and both of them were ready to give up.

Freya, how she wished she could take back the words when she'd asked him not to touch her again. Though she'd meant only for a short time, Styr's expression had turned to frost. He'd done exactly as she'd asked and it was as if she'd thrown up a stone wall between them.

‘I don't think Styr loves me any more,' she admitted. ‘I was cruel to him when I didn't mean to be.'